Page 26 of The Recluse of Wolfeton House (Ladies of Devon 4)

“You’ve lost him again?” Mrs. Green asked, her bottom lip jutting forward.

“Not exactly, no. I’m certain he’s in the house somewhere. We haven’t been able to figure out where he goes in the afternoons. I can send a man up to look in the attic if you are willing to wait.”

Hattie’s grim expression tugged at his heart. She squared her shoulders, holding his gaze. “If you are certain Romeo is here, then what is another day of waiting?”

“His name is Romeo? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Hattie shot him a quick smile. “I am glad he’s safe. Perhaps I can send someone to fetch him tomorrow if that suits?”

Discomfort fell over him swiftly, swirling in his gut like the tumultuous waves in his painting above the mantel. No, he did not want a stranger coming to his home. Having Mrs. Green in his parlor was bad enough. “I would hate for them to arrive and the cat to still be hiding. It is probably best if I send him home as soon as he’s shown himself.”

Hattie nodded, her eyes full of understanding. He wondered if it was merely his logic that she followed or more.

“We should be leaving,” Hattie said. “It will be dark soon.”

He wondered if he should send them home in a carriage, but how would that look? If they went quickly, they could get home while there was still light enough to see. “I can escort you back to your horses. Allow me to fetch a lantern.”

“That is most kind of you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Green said, simpering.

Bentley gave her a perfunctory nod and moved to leave the room when an idea stopped him in his tracks. He could…but no. If he did show Hattie the painting, then she would know. Surely a woman of her talent would piece together the similarities between the cat portrait and the one that hung in his parlor and realize that Bentley was the artist of the seaside painting she so seemed to love.

Of course, he would be kidding himself if he pretended he did not wish for her to know he was the artist. The prideful, human side of him wanted her to see his talents, to attribute something she loved to his skill.

“I do have a way we can perhaps confirm that it is your cat before you leave,” he said, hearing the hesitancy in his voice. His fingers began to shake, the skittish feeling moving up his limbs until he felt as though his very core shook within. Thankfully, it was not noticeable to the others—or so he hoped.

“How is that?”

“Just give me one moment.” He left the room, shaking out his hands as he went, and hoping the discomfort would fly away. Retrieving the small painting he’d done of the cat curled up in the armchair, he took it to the parlor, careful not to touch the still-wet paint. Mrs. Green had moved closer to the pianoforte, and he carried the painting to where Hattie stood beside the fire, looking up at his rendition of the Kent seaside.

He angled the painting so she could see it. “Is this him?”

Hattie lowered her gaze, and he watched her closely, eager for her reaction. She stilled, her lips parting and her brown eyes widening a fraction.

“Yes, that’s Romeo…but how?” She reached for the painting and he moved it back slightly, her hand stilling midair.

“Careful. It’s still wet.”

“Still wet? So it was you.”

The awe in her voice infused his chest with a piercing sense of accomplishment, and he could not dampen the smile that curved his lips.

“Indeed.”

Her gaze flicked to the painting above the mantel. She was making the connection.

“What a lovely likeness,” Mrs. Green said, coming to stand beside Hattie and utterly ruining the moment. “You mean to say you did that, Your Grace? My goodness, I did not know you were so talented.”

Given that she did not know him at all before an hour ago, that was no surprise.

“That is Romeo,” Hattie said, her fingers reaching again for the painting before she stopped herself and pulled her hand back. He wondered if she was fighting the desire to stroke the cat’s fur.

“Indeed,” Mrs. Green said. “I should think this is enough confirmation to put you at ease, Sister. Surely now you may sleep knowing he is safe.”

Hattie turned grateful eyes on Bentley, and his throat grew thick. “Yes, indeed. Thank you for bringing him in and caring for him.” Her hand went to her other forearm, her fingers grazing the area he remembered her scratch to be, now covered by her navy-blue sleeve. Was she thinking of the injury her cat had sustained? She appeared as though she wished to speak openly, but Mrs. Green’s presence stopped her. Indeed, he felt the same.

“Shall we?” He propped the painting on the mantel beside the seaside depiction.

“Yes. I’m certain my Jeffrey is wondering where we are.”

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